Eiusdem Generis
by korallrode
Summary: Back stories to all the Dethklok band members and what their lives were like as children and before they formed the band. drama included just to make things interesting but none of that angsty crap. rated M for obvious reasons. NO SLASH R&R please
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: don't own any of these characters, unfortunately. If I did id have a lot more money and have to deal with all my adoring fans. Hard to take, I know.

*also, some things deviate slightly from how they were depicted on the show, so don't go gettin' all butt-hurt about details.

CITIZEN ERASED

The shotgun blew a hole as big as a car tire in the wall behind her head as she ran down the hall. The baby screamed and started bawling as she covered his face with the blanket he was wrapped in. She dodged into the master bedroom and grabbed the ornate leaded glass vase off the nightstand; it had been one of their wedding gifts. She could hear him reloading out in the hall. She dropped to her knees and laid the baby in the space under the bed. His shrill cries were muffled by the box springs. She crouched on the floor next to the bed, posed ready to throw the vase at the first sight of her husband. He appeared around the edge of the bed faster than she expected and fired a deafening shot that barely missed her. She screamed and dove for his legs tackling him to the floor. She tried to break the vase over his head but he shoved her aside, the vase breaking on the floor beside her. She scrambled through the broken glass, the razor sharp shards sinking into her palms and legs. She stumbled and got to her feet just as another shot was fired. She fell face first into the wall and finally landed on the floor lying on her side. The exit wound in her chest seeped deep red blood onto the salmon colored carpet.

He stood in silence, shotgun still posed against his shoulder. The only sound in the room was the baby's muffled bawling. He stood for a moment starting down at the dinner plate sized hole in his wife's back. He licked his lips and placed the end of the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Now two bodies lay on the floor. The neighbors next door had heard the blasts and called the cops.

"Open the door! This is a disturbance of the peace! Open the door now or we will be forced to break it down!" Several cops stood outside the door.

"Their neighbor reported shots fired." The group drew their guns as the door was being broken down. They walked into the house not knowing what they were facing. The group split up, making their way into the different rooms of the house, walking with backs against the wall. Two cops that split into the hall saw the shot gun blast in the wall as they turned the corner. They looked at each other as if to say "this is serious." They had known prior to coming here that this house and more specifically the people who lived in it had a history with law enforcement.

They both stopped before turning into the master bedroom. They silently counted to three and quickly turned around the corner guns drawn. They both stood in horror at the scene that lay before them. Eventually one reached for his radio.

"Lieutenant, I believe we found the situation." He clipped the radio back on his belt and walked slowly towards the woman lying on the floor. He crouched down to get a better look at her face.

"That's her." The other cop shook his head looking like he was going to throw up.

"No matter how many times you see this shit, it never gets any better… What do you think... homicide?"

"Yeah… son of a bitch…"

A small gurgling sound came from the other side of the room. The two cops stood up again guns poised. The Lieutenant and another cop walked in the door.

"We've confirmed theres no intruders in the h-" The lieutenant stopped mid sentence, shocked by what he had just walked in on. The two cops walked towards the bed, they heard the sound again.

"Under the bed one of the cops whispered." The other got down on his knees slowly, pointing the gun under the bed. He reached out and touched the light green wad, it was warm. He flipped part of the blanket back to reveal a chubby baby with light brown wisps of hair.

"What is it?" the other cop asked.

"It's a baby…" He slid his hand under the bundle and brought the baby out from his hiding place.

At this the lieutenant grabbed his radio.

"He-llo base, this is unit six we need the homicide unit and uh, CPS and a carpet cleaner."


	2. Chapter 2

BOY OF SUMMER

"Eat your eggs, Nathan."

"No."

Nathan carefully aimed the slingshot at the porcelain cat on the third shelf of his mother's "trinket corner." It had glassy wistful eyes that sat slightly crooked on its face. She had gotten it at a yard sale years ago. He always hated that cat and all the other little cutesy items that adorned the hardwood shelves. Even at the age of nine he was already developing a dark sense of reality. Suddenly a bone jarring slap on the back of the head made him drop his slingshot on the kitchen table where his dad snatched it up.

"What'd I tell you about this kind of stuff at the table? And don't you aim that at anything in here, I got more where that came from."

"Oscar! Don't- I mean- just don't smack him like that-I mean, he deserves it but- Nathan! Don't you walk away! Eat your eggs!"

Nathan stepped outside the back door. The humid afternoon almost immediately made his shirt stick to him. He wanted to go swimming but the tire on his bike had a flat inner tube and he now knew that there was no way his dad would take him to get a new one after that episode in the kitchen. Sometimes he hated Florida so much. The summers sucked. Long, hot and sticky, mixed with his mother's motor mouth and his fathers gung-ho military attitude and obvious resentment made for an exceptionally miserable time. He really only had one friend, Tommy. Tommy should have been considered legally retarded, but he was the only kid he could kind of get along with after he moved back to Florida. They had lived in Connecticut for a time before they moved back. That was another thing, being a "military kid" (as other kids referred to him) was a major drag. As a result Nathan's childhood had been a lonely one, and it seemed that there was no end to this cycle of detachment.

Mosquitoes started to land on his arms so he went back inside. He flopped down on the couch in the living room watching the fan blades rotate slowly on the ceiling fan. He sighed. He could feel the sweat start to evaporate off his body.

"No shoes on the couch." His mother said as she walked by carrying a load of laundry.

He kicked off his shoes and turned over tracing the patterns on the fabric of the couch. Then he got an idea. He knew exactly where his dad always hid his stuff when he took it away. All he had to do was wait until he was mowing the grass or arguing with his mom to go retrieve it.

Later that day, as he was about to go catatonic from boredom he heard the lawnmower start up. He always mowed the lawn on Sundays.

His parents room was way too tidy, probably due to his fathers military background. The bed was always made and the shelves and night stands were spotless, no dust, nothing. He opened the closet door and pulled out the empty suitcase that always resided on the floor. He climbed on top of it and reached back into the far right hand side of the top shelf of the closet. Soon he was sneaking back downstairs and out the front door.

"Nathan!" He froze in his steps.

_Oh god, Im caught…shit…_

"Nathan could you please get your dirty laundry off the floor its been there for a week now!"

He stuck his head back in the door.

"Yeah ill uh- get that in a little bit, promise."

He walked out side looking for rocks that would fit in the pouch of his slingshot. He found a few and settled down under his mothers orange tree. Whenever he got smacked or yelled at or got something taken away it always made him rebel in emotionally repressed ways. He heard a rustling in the tree diagonal to him and turned to watch. Slowly the neighbor's cat appeared on a bare limb. It sat down and watched Nathan as he loaded his slingshot with a marble sized rock. He fired it at the watering can under the tree and it bounced off with a loud pang. He reloaded and fired again at the base of the tree the cat was sitting in. He grabbed his second to last rock and pulled back on the slingshot looking for something else to hit. He looked up at the cat, who hadn't moved from its spot and fired the rock directly at its head. A few seconds later the cat wavered and fell out of the tree landing with a thud on the grass below. He wanted to go look but heard the lawn mower shut off and decided to run back inside. As he took the stairs two at a time it registered what had happened. He had just murdered the neighbor's cat. It had been fun but somehow not as amusing as he thought it was going to be. He stashed the slingshot under his bed and walked back down the hall stopping on the landing trying to think of ways in which he had NOT involved with the slaying of the Mr. Winkeltons or whatever his name is, or, was.

"Nathan." He jumped. He hadn't seen his mother come to the bottom of the stairs.

"Laundry. Now. Iam not happy with you young man."


	3. Chapter 3

*keep in mind (for now) whenever our Nordic friends and their families speak its in their native language. The painful transition into English will come later.

FREDAG

It was strange, seeing a dead man, even though he'd seen them a few times in the past. It wasn't bad, just different. His father always told him to never touch them, even though the temptation was strong. They always looked so still and patient, like they were just waiting to be put in the ground. Whenever his father went to a wake Toki and his mother had to go too. They would sit back and watch as people walked slowly and wept and asked his father to pray for the deceased. Then his father would go to the front of the room and ask everyone to bow their heads. The rest of the room was silent as his father prayed. Toki could hear the gravediggers outside, trying like mad to chip away at the frozen ground out side the church before they brought out the body. After the first snowfall everything seemed to freeze for the next five months.

It had started to spit snow by the time the small procession made their way outside. At this point Toki's mother led him away from the group and started to walk back towards their house not saying a word. Toki knew when he got back home the same routine would be followed. His mother would start dinner; his father would come home, they would pray, eat, pray before bed, and then go to bed. Bedtime was his favorite. He had found a way to climb out the window of his second story bedroom and sit on the ledge out side. One side of the house blocked the ledge from the wind that always blew in from the north, other wise it would be impossibly cold. He would bring blankets and sit out side with a flash light reading some old comic books that he had been hiding for years for fear that they would be taken away. He had memorized all the pictures page for page. It became frustrating sometimes not knowing English. The only word he knew how to pronounce was the one that stood out in bold red letters on the front page over the suave overly muscled man.

"Soop-ur-maan." He would quietly say to himself.

He only had two other comics, another superman comic and a spiderman. It never failed to amaze him that all American superheroes knew how to fly. When he was younger he was convinced for a short amount of time that people in other countries knew how to fly and it was people in Norway that hadn't gained that ability yet.

On this particular night he was studying the picture of Superman swooping down off the top of a building to catch a lady who had been thrown helplessly to her death; and then the thought hit him.

_Its time that I learned how to fly._

Toki stood up proudly, the blanket falling off his shoulders and landing on the roof behind him. He walked to the edge of the roof. The wind caught his jacket causing him to teeter precariously for a moment. He looked out towards the mountains in the distance and spread his arms out to the side. He took one step back to gain momentum and jumped. For a few moments he was weightless, hovering above the earth with the light frosty flakes of snow floating around him. He could see him self flying over the mountains and landing in some city where he could show off him new ability, the boy wonder who taught him self how to fly. Of course these were his thoughts until he felt himself start to fall back to earth. He looked down for a moment and for the first time noticed how far away the ground was. It only took a few seconds for him to hit the icy earth with a bone cracking splat. His plan to be silent was broken instantly when a loud "ooooff!" escaped him. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity waiting for his parents to come out. He started to shiver the longer he laid on the ground so he tried to get up but felt a sharp pain run up his leg. He bit his lip and rolled over so he could use the other leg to get up. As he stood by himself in the flat barren land that surrounded the house he felt tears come to his eyes; probably due to the pain in his ankle and the realization of the complete futility of his situation. He started to turn around to head towards the back door of his house when he heard it, it was clear but quiet like the surrounding landscape.

"Toki…" He kept quiet, despite his throbbing ankle, as his father dragged him into the house by the back of his jacket. He knew that if he made noise it would just make things worse. When he didnt move as fast as his father would have liked he turned like a hungry wolf on Toki.

"Whats wrong with you?" he hissed. "Walk correctly." He pushed Toki backwards and ordered him to walk.

When he limped twice and then held onto a chair to support himself his father ripped the chair away and jerked him upright.

"What were you doing? Hmm? Outside, at night… you'll repent for this." His voice had risen to just under a yell.

"No, please, I- please, don't-" Toki had started to cry as his father drug him across the living room. He saw a small light hovering on the stairwell illuminating the bottom of his mothers face. She stood like a statue, quiet and judgmental. As Toki slowly ascended the stairs back up to his room he heard her say something but couldn't make it out. Probably a warning as to what would happen to him the next day. He fell asleep almost as soon as he lay down. Two dark figures watched him from the doorway, knowing what was to come, one blew the candle out. It was quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

FALSE SYMPATHY

The auditorium was perfect, the music was perfect, her outfit was perfect, but then again everything would appear to be peachy when you were the two-time winner of Miss Sweden. Now she stood on the stage as the person who would do the honors of handing the new Miss Sweden her sash and crown. She never liked to think that she had grown older, but rather contented herself with the thought that she had moved on to better things.

Serveta Skwigelf sat back stage checking her platinum blond up-do and preening at the oversized flower that adorned the front of her periwinkle colored dress. She remembered back to 1956 when she had won for her first time. She peered over at the girls now standing in single file ready to go onstage and she felt a twinge of jealousy. One of the back stage managers walked by alerting them that they would have to be ready to go onstage for the final round of judging. Serveta took this as her cue to walk onstage.

She took a deep collected breath, pursing her lips slightly as she walked past the contestants. _"Bitches…" _she thought to herself. She looked down at her dress starting to feel better, it fit her like a glove and were obviously made from expensive material. Her miraculous wardrobe was mostly in part due to the fact that she had been sleeping with the designer for the past few weeks. She smiled smugly as she thought about him. Tall, handsome, high cheekbones, an absolute god in bed and sporting a smoldering aloofness that would drive almost any woman to the brink of insanity. Truly a fine specimen of what Swedish men could be.

The music sounded and all the contestants filed out in a single file line as the announcer repeated their names. As they all stood with plastic smiles plastered across their faces the judges passed around their final decisions and then handed the final product to the announcer.

"And the winner of Miss Sweden 1979 is, the lovely Miss Alexandra Linhart!" The audience cheered as she walked to the front of the stage to receive her sash and her crown. Serveta had a strained smile on her face, trying desperately to hide the fact that she would've like nothing more than to smack her with her crown. She blew kisses and waved and was handed the microphone.

"I would just like to say that I wold like to thank my family for all their support as well as the audience for being so… just so great! You guys are…" Serveta had stopped listening at this point. Her anger had turned suddenly into a fight to keep the contents of her stomach where it belonged. She had been battling an upset stomach for the past few hours and now it had become almost uncontrollable. She felt her stomach heave and she put her hand over her mouth. The urge calmed for a few moments, just enough time to look up and see that she was still facing the new Miss Sweden. Just when she thought she could make a move get off stage another bout of sickness came on even stronger and it was all over in a second. A glorious fountain of barf erupted all over the new Miss Sweden as she was still talking to the audience. She dropped the mic and screamed bloody murder and started to flip her hands around in the air. The other contestants all recoiled in disgust and the audience suddenly got very noisy. Serveta ran doubled over from the stage still feeling like she would puke again. She bowled past people in the hall trying desperately to get to a place where no one could see her. She could hear the theme song for the pageant start to play loudly back onstage. They were probably shutting the curtains trying to cover up what had just happened.

Back in the dressing room she looked a fright. Her eye makeup had started to run in long black rivulets and her perfectly quaffed hair fell down around her face in long blond stringy strands. She sat in front of the mirror wrapped in her bathrobe smoking a long cigarette. There was no one in the room with her; all the other girls had avoided her like the plague. Eventually the announcer came back to the dressing room trying to console her but she sent him away, not wanting his sympathy.

It was, not a few days later that miss Skwigelf walked out of the doctors office with a positive pregnancy test and the final realization that the bout of sickness that had ruined her night had been nothing more than a bad case of morning sickness.


	5. Chapter 5

BRING IT ON HOME

"Mom! Where the fuck are the pickles?!"

"Seth! What did I tell you about language! I don't know, look for them!"

Seth slammed the refrigerator door shut and went back down the hall towards his older brother's room.

"Hey! What the hell. You eat all the pickles again?" A boy with fiery red hair jumped and turned quickly towards the door. He had been busy drawing a picture of a naked woman with huge breasts. He quickly threw the paper behind the desk. He stared at his brother with olive green eyes.

"Ummm… I had a few."

"What like the whole jar?! Again? Goddamn you eat way too many pickles, always have, even when you was younger… your stupid." Seth said throwing an action figure at his brother and hitting him on the chin.

"Ow! Seth you're an asshole!" he said as he got up to chase his brother down.

"For christ's sake boys, language!" Molly yelled from the kitchen. As he rounded the corner Seth ambushed him and kicked him in the shin sending Pickles into a out of control stumble across the living room.

"You know what, Ill just call you pickles from now on, heh, hows that?" he said as a sadistic smile spread across his face as he watched his brother finally regain his balance. The newly dubbed Pickles dove at Seth. They grappled with each other for a few seconds before Pickles caught him in a tight head lock. Despite being younger Seth was strong for his age. He squirmed and gurgled in his brother's tight grasp before he finally managed to kick him in the crotch and break free. He took a swing at Pickles but missed. Pickles grabbed his wrist and muscled him to the ground sitting on his chest. He was just about to backhand Seth when Molly came around the corner drying her hands on a dishtowel to find the two boys thoroughly involved in a full-blown brawl.

"Oh my gahd!" she shrieked. "Calvin! They're killing each other!"

"What?! Whos doing what?!" he yelled from the other room. Molly had started to beat at the boys with her dishtowel in an attempt to make them stop.

"Just get in here!" When he did arrive he knew the drill. He could practically pick the two of them up by the back of their shirts due to both of them being small and light. The two boys would inevitably try to get at each other again and have to be pulled apart again.

"Seth threw an action man at me!" Seth stood to the side smugly.

"Its not my fault, Im not the one who steals dads Playboys." Pickles glared at him.

"And eats all the pickles, your gahd-damn obsessed." Molly was quick to interject.

"Okay, now Seth, really, say sorry and stop with the language. You need to control your temper. Use those techniques the school counselor talked to you about." Molly continued to stare at Seth until he apologized.

"Now say sorry." Seth took a step forward and held his middle finger a few inches away from Pickles' face, smirked and walked away. Calvin chased Seth down the hall in an attempt to rebuke his son for his bad behavior. Pickles stormed outside, feeling helplessly frustrated for what seemed like the millionth time. He hated Seth for being the golden child. It seemed like he always lost to him no matter what it was. Being four years older didn't hold any clout in this family.

That night at dinner the four sat around the table quietly. The only sound was the clinking of forks on the plates. Calvin had grilled cheeseburgers to go with potato salad and cranberry sauce. A new jar of Clausen dills sat in the middle of the table.

"Hey, Pickles…" Seth said tapping the side of the jar with his fork and looking mischievously at his brother. He ignored him.

"Hey, pay attention to me Pickles." Molly looked up.

"Seth. Stop. What did we- wait… what did you call him?"

"Pickles." He said through a mouth full of potato salad.

"He eats them things all the time." Molly pursed her lips and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, trying to hide a smile. As much of an ass as Seth could be at times, he could be funny. Molly could see the perturbed look on Pickles' face, so she thought it better to pick her words carefully so as to avoid another fight.

"Well, that's- that's a… Cal, what do you think of that?"

"What dear?" he had obviously not been paying attention to any of this.

"Seth's nickname for his brother, eh ummm… he calls him Pickles."

"That's a cute name, he does eat a lot of pickles." He said chuckling.

"Yes I think so too." Molly said a little too cheerfully.

Pickles' anger had been growing like a poisonous balloon this whole time. He had been holding his fork and knife the whole time, not eating. He glanced up at his brother for a second. His mouth was stuffed full; a few seconds later he took a swig of pepsi and made a loud smacking sound with his lips as he swallowed. Pickles had always hated when he did that, and after the day he had had it was enough to push him over the edge. Pickles took the fork in his right hand and with lightning fast speed he sunk the four prongs into his brothers forearm.


	6. Chapter 6

NEVER AN ABSOLUTION

The reverend Wartooth sat by the fireplace by him self, listening to the wood pop and crackle. He thought about the day, it had been productive on some level. Toki had been worked into the dirt by him and his wife despite his badly sprained ankle. (which had swelled to an un-proportionate size by the end of the day.) They had taken some pity on him and given him ice. Their only reasoning for this was that he couldn't work the following day if his ankle went untreated. Toki hadn't said a word when he was yanked out of bet at the crack of dawn and forced out into the cold to carry crates full of rocks and break wood. He had cried silently numerous times during the day; probably due to the pain he was feeling and the biting cold mixed with the amount of work he was made to do.

He had always thought Toki was a strange child. He had a way of looking at you when you punished him or after you beat him. A look that seemed to see through you with such clarity that it made the reverend feel very uncomfortable at times; especially with his eyes. He had his mother's eyes, the color of pale slate, like the ice at the waters edge that was thin and could easily be broken through. Toki's early history was something that they had taken an oath never to let him know. The good Reverend hated having filth like Toki looking at him in such a way, so in turn when he caught Toki in one of these moments of piercing clarity he would only want to beat him harder.

The fire popped loudly, and he remembered what could never be said.

Eight years earlier the village outside Lillehammer that they live in had been bigger. There was families living there but it remained mostly a rural village like it is currently. However there was a strong religious undercurrent building in the town. A good number converted or simply became more deeply involved with their existing religion. The reverend and Anya had been living there at the time, being that they were primarily the ones leading the new movement. People were happy for the most part but the amount of judgment and distrust grew like an unspoken disease.

Sophia was a young girl of about seventeen who lived with her parents. She had known of the religious movement and knew too that her parents had started to follow it; so she too felt pressure to do the same though she could see what it was doing to the town. She could see too, every time she went to shower or get dressed that her stomach was growing and she knew just after a few months that she was indeed pregnant. Fear had filled her to the point of panic on numerous occasions but she didn't dare say anything.

She had thought about him, and the night she had slept with him. He was from Lillehammer. She had known him since they were children, but the new movement forbade girls under a certain age to see boys casually. She had known this for a while and that's what had lead her to sleep with him. They had loved each other for years, but he was in Lillehammer now and even though it wasn't to far from her village it was nearly impossible to see him. She put all her energy into trying to forget him. When they attended church and knelt in prayer she thought of nothing but him and the work of purging him from her mind.

_If there is a God…_ she would think to herself, _then he would help me forget about him instead of making my life an ongoing hell._

Luckily around the third month of her pregnancy she was made to wear a long dark frock that covered up her belly nicely. But her luck ran out the day that she was helping her mother with domestic chores. When she had sat down to rest for a moment and leaned back in her chair to stretch the loose fitting dress showed off the outline of a perfectly formed belly. He mother had snatched her up and almost immediately started screaming at her to explain herself. She took Sophia upstairs and ordered her to undress. As she stood naked in front of her mother she started to cry uncontrollably. She was raked with questions, most of which she answered, all except whom the father was. After what seemed like an eternity her mother threw her clothes at her and told her very clearly that after the baby is born she will give it away and be made to go on a pilgrimage to repent for her unforgivable sin.

That night her father was alerted and it was agreed that the next day him and her mother would go to the Reverend Wartooth and ask for council.

As the months passed more people started to leave the town, mostly due to the mounting religious pressure. By her seventh month of pregnancy only an enclave of super religious families were left.

Not a few weeks later the midwife was called when Sophia went into labor. That night as she lay in bed exhausted she looked over at the makeshift cradle the midwife had made. She had been told that it was a boy but was never allowed to see him. She saw the tiny bundle move and wondered what he looked like, perhaps something like his father. She had been told not to get up but her mother had stayed in the room anyway to make sure. The Reverend had told her not to let her see the child. A bastard son to an unwed girl was thought to be born into filth, so therefore the child would carry the stain of their parent's sins for the rest of their life.

When Sophia had enough energy to walk again she was ushered out of the room and was never allowed back in. Her mother cared for the baby though she would have been content to leave it outside and let the elements do their work. She only did this because the Reverend had instructed her to do so.

"Though he is tainted, we must take him in and show him the correct path. We must be patient. It is wrong to cast aside the weak when the weak knows not of what they have done."

So, a few weeks later the baby was delivered to the Wartooth's house and Sophia was told that the next night she was to go to their house too in order to begin her repentance.

Not twenty-four hours later she was being led out into the tall forest by the Reverend. They were alone in a densely wooded area where the snow was light and flaky and stuck to your clothes and the smallest sound would echo off into the impenetrable darkness. They didn't say anything to each other as she stood in front of the tall shadowy man.

"What so you have to say for yourself?" Sophia stood quietly knowing that anything she said wouldn't make a difference. The Reverend stepped behind her.

"There's one thing…" her voice sounded empty. "Can I name him?" The Reverend had thought about this. Originally he thought it to be a bad idea but then came to the conclusion that if he carried the "dirty" name his birthmother had given him then it would be more fitting.

"Yes." A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"Toki. I want to name him Toki."

"Very well." The Reverend had pulled a long slender knife from his coat and in one slick movement deeply slit her throat.

The fire snapped loudly again and the Reverend was drawn back to reality for a moment. Then he started to remember again what had happened closely after.

He had sent Sophia's parents away and instructed them not to come back, telling them that they must go on a pilgrimage like their daughter. They hadn't objected.

As he stood in the woods he watched the life quickly drain from her body he looked into her eyes, pale slate. In the last moments before her death she had given him the same look that Toki had given him on a few occasions, like she could see through him into the woods that stood behind him.

He had worked through the night. He had carried her body to the edge of the woods and burned it.

He stared into the fire in his fireplace and without remorse, reassured himself that had taken the right action.


	7. Chapter 7

THIS MESS IS A PLACE

Stella waddled into the precinct wearing a loud summer dress with carnation patterns on it. She was puffing like a freight train by the time she arrived at the top of the ramp. The shiny pleather straps of her matching floral handbag stuck in the crook of her arm due to the balmy weather. Upon entering the building a receptionist looked up half stunned by the sweating, heavily distraught flower garden that was lumbering up to the desk.

"May I help you?" Stella breathed heavily through her nose and promptly started crying, dabbing her puffy face with what looked like a pink doily. The receptionist hurried around the desk and offered her a chair.

"Lord Jesus on the cross!" Stella wailed. At this the police chief stepped out from one of the offices and approached them. Stella was slumped over in her chair with her hand over her face. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, miss? Are you the mother of the himici-"

"Yes! Oh my god, what?! Who are you?!"

"Im Chief Kilburn, I can talk to you, help… answer any questions you have, anything of that nature." He lightly put his hand on Stella's shoulder but she swatted him away and continued to dab her face.

A little while later she was sitting in front of a floor fan in the Chief's office with a Dixie cup full of water.

"My son… my goddamn son! Oh Jesus….. I cant even. No. no, this is not- why?" Stella continued to cry softly for a while longer.

"Their both dead?' She looked up at the police chief. He responded only with slight nod. She had asked this question many times by now, after the initial shock of his telling her what exactly happened. Stella blankly looked back down at the floor. It was quiet except for the hum of the fan.

"You said your husband would be coming in?" Stella nodded wearily.

"Ehh, ok. Uh, what was his name again?"

"Thunderbolt." The police chief looked up from his paper work.

"Im sorry m'am?" Stella glanced up briefly.

"Uh, no. No its Tom, that's the name he got in the military."

"And you are the grandparents and legal guardians of their son, uhh, William, is that correct?" Stella nodded again. The police chief noticed that she was looking tired.

"Im sorry for all these questions, but its protocol." Stella didn't answer.

"Ok, now you do have the option of putting him up for adoption-"

"Are you out of your goddamn head? He-is-family. My sons already in hell, I might as well try to save whats left." She snapped. Chief Kilburn looked back down at his papers, a little shocked at what he had just heard. Just then a skinny man carrying the odor of stale cigarettes with bristly brown hair came through the door, shook hands with the chief and introduced himself as Tom. Chief Kilburn went through the same legal spiel he had gone through with Stella to make sure that everything was in accordance with her husband also. When all was said and done they arranged a date for them to meet with CPS to officially take young William home. After he had helped his Stella out of her chair Chief Kilburn handed Tom a manila folder with an official stamp on the front that read August 15, 1970.

"This has pretty much everything you'll need as far as paperwork goes for your grandson." Tom looked peaky and overwhelmed, I thin layer of sweat resting on his upper lip. He linked arms with Stella as they walked back out across the lobby of the station. They were almost to the door when Tom slowed down to a stop, the folder dropped from his hands. He took a few steps back from his wife, went stiff and fell like a rigid board onto the linoleum floor.

"Oh my god Thomas! Thomas?! Help!" Stella started to flap her arms like an overfed hen as several police officers ran up to help. They unbuttoned his light blue cotton shirt as another took his pulse and continued to try to revive him. The receptionist called for an ambulance.

"Whats going on!? What happened?!" Stella squawked at the police officers.

"Stand back m'am, we don't know, stand back please." Within a few minutes sirens could be heard outside and Stella was ushered away still in a state of panic.


	8. Chapter 8

*for those of you who have read the rest of the chapters and are now reading the new ones, I changed ch. 4 to connect better with my time line and Skwisgaar's age. So id recommend going back and reading that, it'll just make more sense that way.

OVERJOYED

Serveta lounged on a white chez lounge in the high ceilinged loft apartment of her current boyfriend. She was surrounded by cloth and fitting dummies and books full of designs and pictures of models sporting a wide variety of styles and shoes. It was tastefully adorned with nude statues of ladies and long flowing drapes that matched the snow-white furniture. The hard wood floors were dark and had been polished so much that you could practically see your reflection. She popped another strawberry with powdered sugar in her mouth and listened to him shuffling papers around in the other room.

"Viktor, why don't you come out here, you've been in there all day." She tried to sound as seductive as possible. There was no answer. A few minutes later he emerged from his office wearing only loose fitting sweat pants and lugging a stack of magazines. He seemed not to notice her until after he dumped the magazines on the table. Serveta mentally undressed him. His tall, lean frame was definitely something to behold, especially when he was half naked. She felt lucky, like she had managed to capture some rare exotic creature. She smiled and patted the overstuffed cushion she was laying on. He slightly smiled back but denied her invitation.

"I cant, I uhh, I need to take a shower. Todays not a good day… this paper work and the dead lines. I have a big show coming up." He stood for a moment looking at the magazines as if taking in everything he had to do, then turned and walked towards the bathroom. She frowned slightly, tossing her long blond locks over her shoulder.

"Baby, is something wrong?" Usually he would have jumped on top of her, but something felt off. She could hear his muffled voice from behind the door.

"No, uhh, well…no." The shower turned on. Serveta sat in silence for a while hoping that nothing was really bothering him, but then again he did tend to get this way when there was any big event coming up. He took everything so seriously, it was the best or nothing. She smiled slightly dismissing her worries and got up, walking slowly around the apartment. Her stiletto boots made big empty clicking sounds on the hard wood floor. She ran her fingers over the different fabrics that were laid out. They were all so beautiful. She picked up a roll silvery sharkskin material and held it up to herself imagining how she would look in another one of his breathtaking creations. She walked past the high window that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The white curtains billowed softly as she passed. Two statues of beautiful nude nymphs stood on pedestals on either side of the window. One was sensually wrapped in an ivy vine and the other was holding a…baby. She stopped to look at it and all at once her carefully constructed happiness came crashing down into rubble. She stared at the baby, chubby, happy, with curly locks of hair. Then she looked at the mother and the way she was holding her child. She was loving, she was beautiful… _"What an un-fucking realistic piece of shit!" _she screamed inside of her head. She felt tears coming to her eyes. She thought about knocking the statue over as she felt panic starting to build inside of her chest. She swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. This was the perfect visual reinforcement for reminding her of what she had been trying to ignore. She quickly turned away from the statue covering her face with her hands. She was shaking. She heard the shower stop running and shut her eyes tightly feeling a handful of hot mascara stained tears running down her face. There was no doubt in her mind who the father was.

When she heard the bathroom door open she rushed over to the tall framed mirror that hung on the wall to wipe the black rivulets off her face. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Viktor swagger around the corner wearing nothing but a towel. He sensually wrapped his arms around her while playfully placing little kisses on the side of her neck.

"Sorry baby, stress always gets me down, you know how it is. But… let me make it up to you." He turned her around to face him. He noticed that her eyes were red. He narrowed his eyes at her, tilting her head back so he could see more clearly.

"Have you been crying?" Serveta backed out of his gentle but firm hold, looking at the floor.

"No."

"Whats the matter?"

"I…I don't feel well. I feel shaky." It was quiet, then she heard what she thought was a snicker. She looked up to find that she was right. Her anger and frustration finally boiled over.

"What?! Oh you think that's funny?!"

"Your not going to throw up on me are you?" He started to laugh more noticeably. Serveta stood there for what seemed like an eternity. She felt her lip start to quiver and tears began to run down her face despite her attempt to control them. Then in came to her, she knew exactly what to do. She walked over to statue of the mother and child.

"What? Sweetie I was just joking." He said still chuckling. SMASH! His eyes widened in terror as he started to rush towards the shattered statue.

"What the fuck?! Oh jesus, do you know how much this cost?!" he yelled as he started to pick up unrecognizable chunks of plaster. Serveta stood over him, her crystal blue eyes glared down at him.

"Im pregnant." Viktor looked up.

"What?....." He stood up, never breaking eye contact with her.

"And you're the father." Serveta was calm now, staring into the eyes of her soon to be ex lover. He looked down at her stomach and then back at her.

"How long?"

"Two and a half months."

"Get out." Serveta's tense stance relaxed but she didn't say anything.

His voice was flat. "I don't want any part of this. I just liked you for the amount of tired clout that you pulled with the fashion contests and Miss Sweden. And not to mention you put out like someone half your age… and look where it got y-" Serveta landed a brain shattering slap across his face. With out saying a word she stormed over to the couch, grabbed her fur coat and purse and was standing at the door before he knew what hit him. He turned to face her as she left, wrinkling his nose. She spat on his polished hard wood floor and slammed the door behind her.

A dark blue light had fallen over Stockholm as she walked down the street outside his apartment building. The streetlights had come on. She saw an alley and walked in far enough to be off the street. She buried her face in her hands as she leaned against the wall and started to cry. Her fur coat fell into the grime and mud that lay at her feet.


End file.
